In the morning, not feeling Fiam move, I looked for him in his box, but it was empty, and he had disappeared. I was very anxious. There was no trace anywhere of my little friend except an odor of saki. I was afraid he had fallen on the ground and that some one had picked him up. Every time I saw a lighted pipe or cigarette my heart beat and I ran to see if the burning match could be Fiam. I couldn’t bear to leave the ship until I had found him. I actually ransacked my pockets ten times in succession. I looked in every corner of my valise, all over the floor and in every crack of the deck and in my slippers—nothing. I was afraid he had run away and I could have cried from grief.
“What have you lost?” asked one of the stewards, seeing me bending over searching on the floor and stairs.
“I am looking for a match,” I answered.
“Here is one.”
Startled, I turned quickly, but he handed me an entirely fresh box of matches.
“No, thank you,” I said. “Mine is double.”
He gazed at me in amazement and left me. If he had been the doctor he might, perhaps, have ordered ice on the head; but as he was only the steward he returned soon and gave me the bill for my meals.
I drew out my purse to pay him, and on opening it I saw a lot of papers. I looked between them feverishly. Just guess! Fiam was among the postage stamps, but in what a state!
While still wet with saki he had left his box and, without knowing what he was doing, had crept among the stamps, because that way was familiar to him. Of course, the glue on the stamps had stuck to him, and the more he struggled to free himself the stickier he became. Then the saki had dried, leaving him all covered by a collection of stamps. Think how he looked! On his legs he had two blue five-cent stamps and three red one-cent each; on his chest there were two red and one yellow. On his arm was another of one cent.